THE COTTAGE DOOR
This too, is an agreeable country scene. The labourer, returned from his toil, is enjoying the hour of leisure whilst day still lingers, and the air is mild and refreshing. His good wife within is tying on her tidy apron to prepare his evening meal, the chief one in a cottage generally. I am glad he can allow himself the luxury of a pipe, and that he enjoys it at home instead of at the public house. There are three children. I will venture to guess their names; They are Thomas, William, and Sally Woodyard, and they seem to be playing at marbles. When supper is ready they will be called in to take their share, consisting of vegetables chiefly, with a slice of good bacon, or something of the sort.
“Come, husband, come, children, your supper is dish’d,
Broad beans and fat bacon, the things that you wish’d;
But for dear little Sally, so pale is her cheek,
I’ve a mess of nice broth for her appetite weak.
Come, husband, come, children, your supper is dish’d,
And the board is now spread with the things that you wish’d.”
HOGS IN THE WOOD
I suppose it is autumn, or the pigs would not be driven into the woods, and I suspect that it is an oak tree under which they are feeding. If so, I dare say you can inform us that the food they are eating is acorns. The man attending them, called a swineherd, has a leisure time of it, for these animals never want much running after. In some places hogs are regularly turned into the woods in autumn, without an attendant, and they as regularly find their way back to their respective homes. Pigs are by no means devoid of sagacity, as some persons suppose, they have much more sense than sheep.
“Now, piggies, you are pleased, I know,
Good piggies, grunt and tell me so.
O yes it is as I suppose,
With all those acorns at your nose.
“You’re favour’d more, to say the least,
Than alderman at city feast,
Where viands rare the board embellish,
Not eaten though with half the relish!”
THE BIRD-BOY
Yes, there’s your trap, with spring and slide,
And chaff and baits, and lime beside:
The latch, the string, the prison narrow,
To catch poor robin, lark, or sparrow;
And yet, if you’ll believe my word,
You sit too near to take your bird;
You have not learn’d your art, I see,
Or you’d lie close behind the tree.
Yes, there he sits, ye simple few,
And there’s the trap he means for you;
His purpose surely you descry,
Whilst on you thus he turns his eye.
Ah! ply the wing, whilst fly you may,
From traps and dangers speed away.
Be thankful that the youngster here
With stupid stare excites your fear.
Should he in craft one day excel,
Do you in wisdom grow as well;
Avoid the bait, and so the snare
He’ll watch with disappointed care;
Not finding tricks reward his pains,
Perhaps he’ll seek more honest gains.
From traps we all shall soon be freed,
When knaves find out they don’t succeed.